Witch on Second: A Jinx Hamilton Mystery Book 5 (The Jinx Hamilton Novels)
Page 7
“Can you tell me what we’re looking for?” Ironweed asked.
“Not really,” Chase said, “and there’s an added wrinkle. The head of the Ionescu clan, Anton, spends a lot of time in Raleigh. He has a law practice there.”
“Not a problem,” Ironweed said. “We don’t patrol that far, but I have people I can reach out to. Give me a couple of days.”
“That long?” Chase asked, trying not to sound annoyed.
Ironweed flew closer to Chase’s face and gave him an appraising look. “McGregor, you look like hammered unicorn manure.”
“Gee, thanks,” Chase said.
“No, seriously,” Ironweed said, “are you getting any sleep after the thing with Jinx?”
“Not much,” Chase admitted.
“Why don’t you take a mini vacation?” Ironweed suggested. “You’re already here. Go on up to the high valley and have a look at the new inland sea. Man, it is some kind of sweet. Those merfolk are going to be living the high . . . er . . . deep life up there. It would do you some good to get a little fresh air. Barnaby set up a camp to oversee the work. You could spend the night. How long’s it been since you slept under the stars?”
“You mean in human form?” Chase asked. “Too long.”
“Then make up for some lost time,” Ironweed said.
“I do have a job, you know,” Chase said, but he could feel his resolve weakening.
“Oh, please,” Ironweed said. “You’re not the only werecat in the world. I’ll get a message to Festus. After the way he dealt with Malcolm Ferguson, surely you trust him to take care of Jinx for one night?”
“Well,” Chase said, “I guess the old man can handle it.”
“You want me to tell him you said that?” Ironweed grinned.
“I do not,” Chase said.
“Come on,” Ironweed said, “you know you want to stay.”
Try as he might, Chase couldn’t come up with a reason to say no. He remembered the sheer sense of relief he’d felt just stepping through the portal into the Valley. The idea of a whole night away from Briar Hollow sounded more like heaven than he liked to admit.
“Okay, You’ve convinced me,” he said, “I think I will check it out. You want to come with me?”
“No can do,” Ironweed said. “Staff meeting in thirty. I’ll call Festus before I go in.”
Chase thanked Ironweed and then retraced his steps to Madame Kahveh’s. He bought a loaf of fresh bread, a hunk of sharp cheese, and a carafe of his favorite blend to enjoy on the walk. His route would take him right by a rocky outlook that had been one of his favorite solitary places as a younger man.
“This no leak,” Madame Kahveh said in her thick accent of indeterminate origin. “And coffee will no get cold. I use strong magic to enchant. Here, take this for to carry.”
Chase accepted the light daypack she held out with a grin. The flap was emblazoned with the words, “Cold coffee offers no comfort for the soul.”
He stowed his food purchases in the bag and, slinging it over his shoulder, turned his steps toward the high valley. Having “camped” with Barnaby before, Chase knew he’d have access to anything he might need once he arrived at the inland sea.
As he started across the big meadow between the fairy guard drill field and the stables, Chase turned his face toward the warmth of the sun. There were plenty of problems waiting for him back in Briar Hollow, but at least for a few hours he could afford to put them on hold.
8
The instant I stepped through the portal to the Valley, six dragonlets landed in a perfect line in front of me, bowing their bird-like beaks low toward the earth and spreading their wings.
Then Minreith, the flock leader, looked up. He cocked his head to the side to regard me with one glittering, jewel-like eye, and let out with a series of coos and chirps.
From the moment I met the creatures, I've been able to understand their language, but in this instance, there was no translation required. Minreith wanted to know what I was doing in the Valley.
Sighing, I said, “You guys are worse than a bunch of parents waiting up for their kid to get home from a date.”
The dragonlets’ heads swiveled back and forth. I swear two of them shrugged their incomprehension.
Minreith asked the question for the group, which I answered. “A ‘date,’” I explained, “is when two people who are interested in each other go somewhere together.”
Minreith’s blank expression told me he needed more detail. I tried again.
“Parents usually give their kids a specific time to come home, and if they're late, the parents wait up for them.”
Now puzzlement filled the dragonlet’s features. Okay, third time is the charm, right?
“The parents do that because they’re afraid the kids might do something they’re not supposed to do during the date.”
At that, Minreith cocked his head again and chirped mischievously. He'd been playing me the whole time.
“You are so bad!” I said. “And, no, ‘make baby dragons’ is not exactly the correct answer, but you’re on the right track.”
The dragonlet leader cackled mirthfully and reiterated his original inquiry.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I know I didn’t tell you why I’m here.”
More stares. Dragonlets have the patience of Job.
“Fine,” I sighed. “I’m here to do something a lot of people wouldn’t want me to do, so I’m trying to keep a low profile. Do you know what that means?”
Minreith nodded, and to my surprise instantly began to give me useful information on getting into the city undetected. I was arriving just before the supper hour in the Valley. I didn’t expect to go completely unnoticed, but it would be nice to avoid the hustle and bustle at the city’s main entrance until I finished my errand.
The dragonlet explained that Bill Ruff, who guards the lower bridge, eats early and then falls asleep for at least an hour. To play it safe, however, Minreith suggested I use the rock crossing above the bridge. The dragonlet was turning out to be an excellent co-conspirator.
“Any suggestions about avoiding the main gate?” I asked.
For just an instant, Minreith looked vaguely uncomfortable, and then he said that I might find a service door open on the east side of the city wall.
Narrowing my eyes suspiciously, I said, “How do you know that door might be open?”
The dragonlet ducked his head and dragged his talons guiltily in the dirt. He began a mournful recitation that I cut short.
“You’re going into the city at night and stealing things?” I gasped. “Minreith, what on earth are you thinking? What kinds of things are you taking?”
More chirping followed, all with a tone of reasonable self-justification.
“What do you mean ‘shiny stuff?’” I interrupted.
His answer ran the gamut from purloined wind chimes to pilfered silverware. None of the thefts qualified as felonies, but since the dragonlets weren’t even technically allowed to fly over the city, there was no way Barnaby would look kindly on these nighttime raids if he found out.
“Why on earth are you taking such a risk?” I asked Minreith.
The answer surprised me. With some vehemence, he told me, “The big dragons get to have treasure.”
“You mean the dragons in Europe?” I asked.
Minreith nodded.
“Yeah, well, the ‘big dragons’ also get killed by people who want to take their treasure,” I countered. “So count your blessings. Regardless, trying to keep up with the big dragons is not an excuse to steal. I expect you all to return every single thing you’ve taken. Do you hear me?”
Reluctantly the dragonlets agreed, but now I had them over a barrel. They had to help me.
“Okay,” I said, “now we’re going to make a little deal. You put the stuff back, don’t tell anyone you saw me today, and I don’t tell Barnaby what you’ve been up to. Deal?”
That won me nods all around.
So that,
ladies and gents, is how I managed to sneak into a walled city with the help of a gang of juvenile delinquent magical creatures. Sometimes I amaze myself.
Any miscreant behavior aside, Minreith knew what he was talking about. The streets on the east side of town were mostly deserted. I still tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, but that mainly involved walking close to the buildings and looking over my shoulder a lot.
Things were going so well, I decided that stopping at the apothecary’s for an alibi purchase should I need one, was totally doable. All I cared about was not getting caught before I managed to see my brother. After that, I felt confident in my ability to cook up a believable story.
When I reached the end of the sloping street, I stood partially behind a large tree and stared at the stables. Two of the pens were reserved for the descendants of Hengroen, King Arthur’s stallion, and Gringolet, Sir Gawain’s charger. A small herd of unicorns occupied the corral next to the invisible dome of magic that contained the winged horses, Pegasus and Tulpar, in their paddock.
Everything looked normal and deserted. Then, a single figure emerged from the barn with a wheelbarrow full of soiled straw, which he dumped in a pile. Tomorrow, the town’s gardeners would obligingly haul the unicorn manure away. It’s the most sought after fertilizer in Shevington.
The sun was beginning to set. I knew the worker had to be my brother, but I couldn’t get a good look at his face as he moved in and out of the lengthening shadows. I waited until he went inside for another load to sprint across the open space and crouch down behind a wagon filled with hay. When I heard the wheelbarrow rolling over the gravel, I cautiously raised my head.
A tall young man with my father’s strong jaw and my mother’s eyes came across the yard. The sleeves of his blue work shirt, rolled up to the elbow, revealed powerful muscles under skin tanned dark by long hours in the sun. The wind played through his short, sandy hair, picking up and carrying toward me the tune he whistled. Greensleeves. One of my . . . our . . . mother’s favorites. A knot rose in my throat as I watched him work. I could see our parents in his movement and manners. I could see myself in him.
Even though I couldn’t get a picture of Connor head on, I took out my phone to snap a quick image in profile. At just the instant I clicked the shutter, My brother started to turn toward me. Thankfully, I have excellent reflexes. I ducked behind the wagon but banged my shin against the wheel rim. It hurt enough that before I could stop myself, I let out with a small cry of pain.
On the other side of the wagon, the sound of the wheelbarrow stopped. “Is someone there?” Connor called.
I had wanted to hear his voice, but not as a prelude to getting caught. His tone was deep, like our father’s but gentle, with a note of calm assurance. I knew instantly why he had such an excellent reputation for working with animals.
When I didn’t answer, I heard footsteps start toward the wagon. I glanced around desperately, but there was nowhere to hide. Connor couldn’t have been more than two feet from where I was standing when a raccoon hurtled past me.
The sound of skidding gravel told me the animal came to an abrupt halt on the other side of the wagon. “Whoa! Con man!” the raccoon said. “Scare the fur off a guy why don’t you?”
“Rube,” Connor said, “what are you doing here?”
“Sorry, bro,” the raccoon replied. “It’s an undercover thing. Top secret. You never saw me.”
“Fine,” Connor said, “but don’t you go scaring my horses, and stay out of the feed shed.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, man,” Rube said. “I’m totally reformed and totally out of here. Places to go. People to see. Hasta la vista, dude.”
I heard Connor walk away and then the wheelbarrow sounded on the gravel again. The raccoon waddled back behind the wagon and looked me up and down with a critical expression. “Sister,” he said, “don’t give up your day job. Stealth Ops are not your thing.”
“That’s an understatement,” a male voice agreed from behind me. “May I suggest we adjourn this conversation to a safer distance before we all get caught?”
Under normal circumstances, I might have argued, but as much as I hate to admit it, one look at the guy rendered me speechless. Don’t get me wrong. The tall, lean man standing behind me was definitely good looking, but he also appeared to have just stepped right out of an Indiana Jones movie.
From the bemused blue eyes to the battered fedora pushed high on his forehead, he had a look that frankly just did it for me. The collar of his white shirt was open at the throat, and he was wearing a long leather coat. If he’d pushed it back to reveal a pistol and a coiled whip hanging from his belt, I wouldn’t have been one bit surprised.
Instead, he waved his hand in front of my eyes to snap me back to reality. When I blinked, he said, “Well, good, you are still in there. You’ve got about two minutes to decide what you’re going to do. Either come with us or dive back behind that wagon before Connor returns.”
My brain heard “two-minute warning” and finally reacted, sending a signal to my legs and feet to move. I followed the stranger and the raccoon across the street and into the cover of an alley. We barely made it before Connor came out into the barnyard with the wheelbarrow again.
“Now,” the man said, “you want to tell me what you’re doing skulking around the stables?”
Somewhat recovered, and thoroughly outdone with myself for my initial reaction, I decided I categorically did not like his tone. “I was not skulking,” I replied sharply. “I don’t even know how to ‘skulk.’”
From the vicinity of my ankles, the raccoon said brightly, “Don’t sell yourself short, doll. You’re a natural at it.”
Glaring down at him, I said, “And who might you be?”
“My friends call me Rube,” he grinned.
Something clicked in my brain. “Don’t you run a cleanup crew?” I asked.
“Best in the biz,” Rube said proudly.
“You did the Pike house for Festus McGregor?” I asked.
“That was us,” Rube grinned, revealing a mouth full of sharp white teeth. “Some of our best work.”
Turning toward the man in the duster, I said, “And who are you? The raccoon whisperer?”
“Lucas Grayson,” he said, flashing me a grin of his own. “Rube is a business associate of mine.”
“And your business would be what?” I asked.
“I’m an agent with the DGI,” he said.
Oh, great. Here we go with the acronyms.
I just looked at him until he explained. It stands for ‘Division for Grid Integrity,’” Grayson said.
Even though I had no idea what he was talking about, one thing was clear; I’d managed to get myself busted by some kind of cop.
Before I could say anything, Grayson went on. “I know who you are, Miss Hamilton, and I know you know who Connor is, so maybe we could save each other some time by not concocting any stories.”
The only thing worse than being accused of lying is being accused of lying before you even do it. Especially when that’s exactly what you had in mind.
“Jinx,” I said. “My name is Jinx. How do you know who I am?”
Grayson looked down at Rube. “Is she kidding?” he asked.
The raccoon shook his head. “Festus told us she doesn’t believe her own press. Gotta admit it’s kind of refreshing.”
“Do you two mind?” I interrupted. “‘She’ is standing right here.”
“Look Miss . . . er, Jinx,” Grayson said, “you might want to start getting used to the idea that you’re a pretty important person in the Fae world. Your actions have consequences.”
“Meaning?” I said flatly.
“Meaning,” Grayson said, “you can’t just get it in your head that you’re going to go talk to your brother when you know the potential fallout.”
I started to bark back, “Who the heck do you think you are,” but Grayson cut me off mid-sentence.
“The Mother Tree sent me.”
9
Chase lounged among the high boulders on a lonely point overlooking the Valley. To his left, he could see the walled city of Shevington in the distance, and to his right, the sparkling waters of the new inland sea. Another half hour of walking would take him to the staging area for the merfolk population transfer, but he wanted a little more time to himself before wading into the hive of activity visible on the shore.
After the dwarven engineers built dams in the approaches to the deep meadow, Myrtle collapsed the floor of the newly contained space to create greater depth for the merfolk. Then, in an impressive display of magical control, Moira and Myrtle held open the Atlantic Ocean portal allowing millions of gallons of saltwater to pour through. When they were done, the inland sea rivaled the size and depth of Lake Superior.
Next, the aos si and the Alchemist worked on underwater terraforming to create the rock elements and plant growth common to the merfolk’s native habitat. Myrtle completed the final reef formations just the day before she transitioned into the Mother Tree. Now, after several weeks of observation to verify the stability of the environment, Moira had begun to introduce designated lots of ocean species on a daily basis.
Beneath the surface, merfolk architects and builders labored to erect a submerged city for their people. If all continued to go as planned, small groups would begin to migrate to their new home over the next month.
Considering the logistical and diplomatic implications of the project, Barnaby and his staff set up camp to be on hand to help Moira and to settle the inevitable snarls and disagreements. With other species, the merfolk were by nature reclusive and shy. Their answer to any argument or conflict was generally to simply dive deep and remain hidden. Requesting sanctuary represented an enormous effort on their part. The Lord High Mayor wanted to avoid any unnecessary stress during their relocation.
When Ironweed described the inland sea project to Chase, he hadn’t done justice to the sheer scope of the undertaking. Barnaby stood by his word when he offered sanctuary to a unique species, but even by his standards, the merfolk migration constituted an epic effort.